Higher Than Hope
by Akemi Tsuki Hikari
Summary: Each of the Baltics want their independence from Russia, but maybe that's a dream that is too high for hope alone to reach... Rated M for violence in later chapters.


_OK! This is HOPE, my new story writen by myself and two of my friends, edited by another. This started off as a halloween one shot, but one of my friends got an idea and, well... It just spiraled from there. We used it as sort of a Role Play in a spiral notebook and we passed it off to each other at school. This first original chapter was meant to be published on Halloween, but I went to an anime convention and then got grounded. Also, our editor is lazy. XD Anyway, this one was writen solely by me (and edited by my friend). I'll let you know who wrote each chapter. Enjoy~_

_Time it took the most of me  
And left me with no key  
To unlock the chest of remedy  
Mother, the pain ain`t hurting me  
But the love that I feel  
When you hold me near..._

_Your death saved me..._

_~Higher Than Hope- Nightwish_

_A scream shatters the empty silence.  
The whip cracks, another welt forms._  
_The first few felt like chaos._  
_By the sixth, it felt like hell._  
_And by the twentieth, he felt nothing._  
_Just the feeling of hot blood on freezing flesh..._

Icy hands traced his scars and welts, trailing through his blood. His vision started to blur and he felt himself being dragged into seductive sleep, his eyes glazing over.

Then those hands yanked him up by his hair, pulled him off the bed, and dropped him to the ground. He felt his lip bust open again. Blood poured into his mouth and down his face. His lip was bleeding. His back was bleeding. His head was bleeding. Everything _HURT_. Another blow to his head made him see stars.

And then, for a few moments, the violence stopped. The only thought that ran through his head was; _'Maybe if I pretend to be knocked out, he'll go away…'_

He clinched his eyes shut and forced his body to relax, willed his breathing to slow. It was something he learned from Eduard.

"You're so silly, Toris~!" The slightly slurred Russian's voice echoed, shattering the uncomfortable silence. Another kick was landed to his sternum, right between his ribs. A sickening snap rang out in the room, followed by another cry.

The young man on the floor, who lied in his own blood, fresh tears springing to his eyes, prayed there would be no more.

A childish giggle and a soft thud were registered by his ears. He looked up to see the older man had put down the whip and was taking a swig of vodka. Toris attempted to pull himself into a sitting position, but the hot pain that exploded in his body kept him from doing so. Ivan smiled down at him brightly, but darkness lied in his violet eyes.

"Go and clean yourself up. Then prepare dinner."

The moment he was sure the Russian had left, Toris crawled to the nightstand by his bed. He had intended to call Eduard's cell, knowing how the Estonian had a way with words and could probably convince Ivan to let someone else cook, but when he started dialing, he remembered Eduard wasn't around anymore. That he had escaped. Toris hung up the phone and called Feliks again. Every night after Ivan had drunk himself to sleep, Toris would call Feliks. Sometimes they would talk about the old times, when they had been an empire together. Others would be just pointless things. Lately, Toris had been talking about recent events. How Eduard had left. That the 'punishments' were getting worse. This had greatly upset Feliks.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Thrice.

"I like totally can't get to the phone right now, so if you leave me a message, then I'll try to get back to you as fast as I can!"

Of all the times Toris had called him these days, the time he actually needed him, he wasn't there.

"Feliks… I need help… He knows…" Then Toris hung up the phone.

For dinner, Toris heated up leftover soup from a few nights before. It was difficult for him to do much moving, due to his wounds. Usually the Russian wasn't this reckless with him, but since Eduard had left, it had gotten worse. Then, on top of that, Ivan just found out about the phone calls to Feliks that were made without his permission. That made everything so much worse. If Ivan wasn't careful, he might actually kill him without meaning to.

While Toris was setting the table, a muffled scream tore through the icy house. Toris wasn't the only one absorbing the brunt of his anger. It was Raivis's turn with the whip. He had just finished setting the table when Ivan came down the stairs.

"Raivis is going to be tardy to dinner tonight, but we can go ahead and begin without him." He smiled lightly and sat himself at the head of the table. They sat for a few long minutes, Ivan eating and Toris unable to bring himself to, before the Latvian stumbled down the stairs, trembling the whole time. His visible skin was covered in fresh forming bruises and small cuts. His split lip bled still. The vulnerability in his eyes and his trembling made him appear younger than he actually was. He took his seat to the right of Ivan and began to gingerly sip his soup.

"Raivis, why are you shaking?" Ivan frowned, which caused the boy to shake harder.

"I-I'm just cold… Th-that's all…" The Russian nodded and pulled the Latvian's chair closer and wrapped an arm around him. "Better?" Without waiting for a reply, he turned to Toris.

"Toris, I would like to speak with you tonight, after dinner, about your behavior. Is that alright?" Ivan loved making the Balts think they had a choice on these things. Lulling them into a false sense of security, so to speak.

"Y-yes sir, I don't mind…"

The Russian took another drink of vodka straight from the bottle (a new one, Toris noted), leveling his eyes with the Lithuanian's, smiling like a cruel child the whole time. Toris didn't even realize he was shaking until he saw the gloved hand grab his cup and begin pouring vodka into it.

"It might help to calm your nerves. You should try to drink it all," It wasn't meant to be a suggestion. It was a command.

When dinner was completed, Ivan instructed Raivis to clean up the dishes and then himself. He wanted to talk to him later, as well. Toris' instructions were to meet him downstairs. In the basement. Toris knew it was only a matter of time before he had to go down there again. The thing that was occupying Toris's mind was that he wasn't scared. He didn't understand why until he stood. The world seemed to spin around him as he stumbled to the basement door, nearly falling multiple times. The pain from the earlier punishment felt negligible. Toris opened the door and focused any attention span he had on clinging to the guard rail, not wishing to fall. When he reached the bottom, Toris glanced around the room, searching for the Russian. As his eyes scanned the walls, he remembered the feeling of cold metal on his wrists. Searing pain. Hot tears. The freezing floor. The memories were expelled from his mind when his eyes fell on Ivan. He was sitting in a chair, his whip in his lap and his (in) famous faucet pipe at his side. In his hands rested a perfect sunflower. A nearly full bottle of vodka was sitting on the card table next to him.

"You're not going to leave me, da? Not like Eduard did…" His voice was shaking. Toris shook his head.

"No… Of course not… What wou–"

"Liar," Ivan glared at him. Toris's heart skipped a beat in fright. The Russian stood up and gingerly set the sunflower in the chair. He stuck the whip into his belt and _picked up the pipe_. "Did you really think you could fool me, Toris? That I wouldn't find out about your late night calls to Feliks? Do you really not want to be here that badly? Do you hate me that much?" Ivan smiled darkly and Toris stood frozen, unable to do or say anything. He could hear the quiet 'KOL's. "Why didn't you tell me how you really feel?"

Ivan didn't wait for the Lithuanian to give him a legitimate answer. He swung the pipe and it connected painfully with Toris's left shoulder. The smaller nation felt something shatter under the force and screamed, his knees buckling and hitting the hard ground, tears collecting in his eyes. Ivan giggled and pulled Toris up by his left arm, causing him to cry out. He practically dragged the teen over to the wall, binding his hands with the manacles. Then the Russian started unbuttoning his shirt. A plethora of scars covered his chest, most of them dating back to when he first began living with Ivan.

"You know that it hurts me more than it hurts you to do this, Toris, but you never learn…" The older nation stood up straight. If he wasn't mistaken, it almost looked like the Russian was… crying? Ivan's pipe was nestled in the crook of his right arm and he held his whip coiled in his left hand. He cracked it, and a grim smile crossed his face.

"You can't leave, Toris. Your place is here," The whip flew through the air and cracked against Toris's bare chest. He screamed. "Do you not believe me?" Toris cracked his eyes open and bit his lip to keep from whimpering, and the bittersweet metallic liquid flooded his mouth. Movement behind Ivan caught the Lithuanian's attention. A familiar blonde crept silently down the stairs, cross-dressing in female punk clothes. Light blood spatter covered him. His eyes held fear and determination, but also a great level of insanity.

"Look Ivan, this totally has to stop! I can't sit by and, and let this keep happening to Liet!"

Feliks was clad in a red and black plaid skirt with fishnets and a chain belt. His black tank top bore areas that appeared slick and reflected a reddish color in the light. His hair hung uncharacteristically limp and damp in his face. Spatters of blood decorated his face and matted areas of his hair. His trembling hands held a silver revolver, pointed directly at Ivan.

The largest nation turned to face the potential threat.

"How did you ge-" The gun fired as Feliks pulled the trigger. The bullet went through Ivan's right shoulder and blood splattered onto Toris. Ivan nearly fell over from the force of the close-ranged shot. The whip fell to the floor and Ivan used his pipe to steady himself. Toris glanced up at Feliks, who was staring at the gun, shaking.

"Feliks! Get out of here!" The blood shook his head slowly.

"N-no… I have to save you…"

Toris watched Ivan collect his bearings and stand straight up again, favoring his right arm. He gasped, eyes wide, as he watched the pipe come down on the head of his best friend. The hollow 'thunk' resonated through the room. The Pole crumpled to the ground, blood already beginning to pour from the wound. A deep crimson in the light bleach blonde.

The Lithuanian was genuinely shocked when Feliks shakily stood up, swaying, blood trickling down his face. Eyes wide, insane, were already starting to glaze over. Somehow, the gun was still in his hands. He shakily aimed it again, this time at his head. The trigger was pulled, but no bang came. Just a small 'click'.

The blonde shook his head and tears started to stream down his face. "N-no…"

In a blur, Ivan dropped the pipe, strode forward, and grabbed Feliks by his neck, slamming him into the wall. His head cracked against the bricks. Toris watched his friend struggle, clawing at the Russian's hands, useless against the vice grip. He watched Feliks choke. He watched the blood from his wound soak Ivan's jacket, turning the beige red. He watched Feliks' lips move, in an attempt to say something he guessed, but Toris couldn't make out the words. He was watching when Feliks finally stopped struggling and the life faded from his eyes. And he watched Ivan carelessly drop the blonde to the floor. He removed his gloves and leaned down. The Russian used his pinky and index finger to close the Pole's eyes. Then Ivan picked up the whip, appearing completely oblivious to the blood soaking his coat. Toris continued to stare at Feliks, willing him to get up. To move. To breathe. He never did.

'_My best friend is dead, and it's all my fault_.'

Toris didn't realize he was crying until he felt an icy hand brush them away.

"Such beautiful tears…" Ivan whispered, "You needn't cry for him, dear Toris. He was weak. He always has been. Now he is freed of that weakness…" Toris felt empty.

"H-he was only trying to help…" He choked out in a whisper. Ivan frowned.

_A broken scream shattered the frozen silence.  
The whip cracked, another welt formed._  
_The first few felt like flames._  
_By the sixth, ice._  
_And by the twentieth, he felt nothing._  
_Just the feeling of hot tears on frozen flesh…_

'_My best friend is dead, and it's all my fault…_'


End file.
